


Treat You Better

by joonswig



Series: Panwink Is Superior [4]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Panwink Fic Fest, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Crush, Wooseok is a dick, i lov him actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonswig/pseuds/joonswig
Summary: this is sad bullshit hewwo





	Treat You Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avarie/gifts), [LittlePrinceCyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePrinceCyanide/gifts), [HoransonCrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoransonCrew/gifts).



> 'Here's my work for the Panwink Fic Festival, based on Treat You Better by Shawn Mendes <3 happy panwink everyone

The door is black mahogany, Jihoon notices, as he rings the bell for the fiftieth time, hoping anyone would open him. He waits. A minute passes, so he rings again. Still nothing. He rings again and again, wishing that somehow his neighbour will finally hear him through the blaring music and end his misery. He thumps on the door, yelling for anyone to open up. Close to giving up, the boy checks whether or not the door is actually locked. It’s not.

He flings it open and bursts inside. He’s greeted with what he would refer to as a normal house, but the noise coming from downstairs is definitely not normal. Jihoon navigates around the unknown surroundings, trying to find his way to the basement. Luck is on his side again, as he takes notice of a staircase leading down from the living room. The music (if Jihoon can even refer to this ear-piercing racket as music) is getting louder and louder, so he covers his ears until he reaches the bottom floor. There’s a door, yet again, slightly ajar, so he peers inside.

There’s a bunch of guys his age, clad head to toe in black, spikey outfits that scream “edgy”, trashing around the garage. The ruckus is insufferable, the drummer is slamming his head against the plates, the lead guitar looks like he’s convulsing when playing the riff and the frontman is yelling words Jihoon can’t make out into the mic. They are so engrossed in whatever they are doing that they don’t notice the intruder, who, to be frank, is a little intimidated at this point. Jihoon is by no means judgemental but all the members of this band are at least ten feet taller than him and they are most probably cult members performing an exorcism. Suddenly, his eyes meet the piercing stare of the guitarist who stops playing immediately and shushes everyone up, pointing directly at the eavesdropping boy.

“You! What are you doing here?” he yells and Jihoon cowers at his deep voice. If he felt a little intimidated before, he now wants the ground to open up and swallow him. I’m going to die, he thinks. I’m going to be killed by a cult leader wearing a polka-dot onesie.

“It’s three a.m. and I wanted to sleep and I live next door and it was very loud, so I came over but no one would open the door, but it was open all along, so I came in and I’m sorry for intruding, but it’s really late and my parents are this close to calling the police or something, so if it’s not a problem could you please stop whatever this is?” he babbles, his voice trembling a little.

“It’s three already?” the screaming guy shrieks. “My parents would kill me if they knew, I told you to keep the time, Seok!”

“Well, I didn’t know your neighbours would throw a fit, also are you twelve? Why are you even so scared of your damned parents?”

“They are my parents, I can’t just disobey them.”  
  
“Wow, live a little, please. I can’t believe how much of an idiot you are, can you hear yourself?”

The drummer pays no attention to the bickering, taking a packet of crisps from the floor and stuffing his face. He gets up and hands it over to Jihoon, asking if he wants some. The boy is too preoccupied, however, with how every time the taller one yells, the other seems to shrink a little. He looks pitiful, his tough façade fading with every word. Jihoon realises, as he takes a closer look, that he’s seen the boy before, somewhere. It clicks suddenly.

“Aren’t you the guy who’s always late to chemistry?” he interrupts, tilting his head to the side.

Before the guy can respond, ‘Seok’ roars at him to get out and Jihoon isn’t one to pick fights so he dashes out and is back at home within seconds. He thanks whatever deity out there that the noise stopped, but can’t stop thinking about how small the chemistry boy looked and how he wishes he could make him smile.

 

 

Jihoon gets up in the morning, hearing the doorbell ring continuously. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he checks the time. 9:23. Someone woke up before noon on a bloody Sunday and Jihoon is anything but happy about this. He trudges downstairs, yawning loudly and opens the door mindlessly. He’s greeted by the very familiar face of his neighbour, smiling at him pleasantly.

"Hi."

He regains consciousness quickly, knowing exactly where this is going. His life is threatened. Jihoon tries shutting the door but Possessed Guy is quicker, blocking it with his foot.

"That's not nice. I was only saying 'hi'," his neighbour grins cheekily, pushing himself in. Clad in an oversized black shirt and chain-less trousers, he seems less intimidating and rather cute. This, however, serves as no help to Jihoon who's torn between fearing for his life and worshipping the ground Chemistry Dude stands on.

"Are you...here to kill me?" Jihoon asks timidly, thanking god he wrote his final will a few years back.

"Why would you even think that, what?" The boy looks genuinely confused, but trust doesn't come easily with Jihoon, so he hesitates before answering.

"I interrupted your ritual."

His neighbour is baffled, eyes squinted as though he's trying to make out what is exactly the logic behind this statement.

"You mean...band practice?"

Jihoon nods bluntly.

"You're aware we weren't summoning demons or some shit, right?"

"Oh, that's a relief, then," Jihoon heaves a content sigh. It's a good day knowing his neighbours aren't satanists.

The boy's eyes widen and he shakes his head, mouthing something on the lines of 'what', but quickly regains composure and hands Jihoon a tightly wrapped package.

"I came over to say sorry for all the noise, we didn't realise it was that late. Wooseok got into a fight with this dude who would rent us out a practice room, so we had nowhere to go. Dongho lives in a dorm, so Wooseok insisted we have them here at mine," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Is that...a bomb?"

"Why are you so psyched about me trying to murder you, Jesus. I'm trying to be nice here! It's cake, I stayed up making it for you, so consider it a peace offering, or something."

"It's because...the guitar dude with a shitload of piercings?" "You mean Wooseok?"

"He looked like he wanted to stab me with the studs on his jacket," Jihoon confesses, making his neighbour burst out in high-pitched giggles. If that was a sneaky attempt to gain Jihoon’s trust, the boy succeeded.

"Wooseok may look dangerous but he'd never hurt anyone, trust me. I would know,” he assures Jihoon through the laughter. “No one’s out there to kill you, I promise.”

“You woke me up at the asscrack of dawn, I wouldn’t be so sure,” he chuckles again and Jihoon wants to hear that sound on loop forever.

“Anyways, I’m sorry about yesterday, or today actually. It won’t be happening again. And yeah, I’m the guy who’s late to Chem, my name’s Guanlin,” he introduces himself.

“I’m Jihoon and thank you for the cake. It’s really nice of you,” Jihoon smiles, but he’s too tired, so it resembles more of a grimace.

“No problem, so, see you around!” Guanlin waves at him before making his way down Jihoon’s front porch. “Guanlin!” he calls out.

“Yeah?” Guanlin stops and turns around. “The cake isn’t poisoned, right?”

“See for yourself,” Guanlin shouts back and he’s gone.

 

 

It’s weird seeing Guanlin at school, because suddenly he’s everywhere. Jihoon first takes notice of him after second period, his classroom being right next to Guanlin’s. They exchange awkward nods. During third period, Gym, Jihoon gets hit in his face with a ball and he meets Guanlin on the way to the infirmary. The boy asks him if he’s alright, but Jihoon says it’s nothing, he gets nosebleed a lot. During lunch, he keeps glancing in Guanlin’s direction, trying to be subtle about it, but Jihoon knows he failed when his best friend Woojin asks him about it. He lies, saying it’s nothing. Fifth period is Chemistry and Jihoon bursts when Guanlin, five minutes late, takes a seat right next to him.

“Hi,” he whispers.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“How’s your nose?”  
  
“Better. It wasn’t broken, I just had to use an ice pack.” “That’s good.”

The teacher shushes them up, so Guanlin tears a page out of his notebook and writes down something. He passes it over to Jihoon.

‘I was worried about you.’  
  
‘No need to, I’m fine’ Jihoon scribbles back. ‘Thank u for the cake btw’ ‘No problem, was it good?????’  
  
‘Amazing”  
  
Guanlin smiles proudly, but doesn’t reply.

The last time Jihoon sees Guanlin is when the school day is over and his exhausted self makes his way through the parking lot. Guanlin doesn’t take the bus, like he does. Someone comes to pick him up on a black Harley, someone who seems familiar, despite the helmet covering his face. Jihoon worries, watching the boy ride off without a helmet, in a direction opposite to the one leading back home.

 

 

He’s in the living room during the evening, his parents were watching a movie while he was lying on the couch, paying no attention to the outside world. That is, until a roar of an engine snaps him out of the daze. Jihoon walks up to the window and sees Guanlin, hand-in-hand with Wooseok, helmet off and an unreadable expression on his face. They walk up to the front porch, Guanlin talking animatedly about whatever, but the boy next to him doesn’t seem interested. Jihoon can’t understand that, if he were the one talking to Guanlin, he would take in every word, cherish it.

Then, all of a sudden, Wooseok pushes Guanlin against the door and presses a chaste kiss against the boy’s lips. Jihoon feels like he’s intruding, but can’t look away, watches Guanlin circle his arms around the towering frame, pressing closer and closer. It’s so natural, so private and the only odd element is Jihoon, who doesn’t blend against the black mahogany like they do.

When Guanlin walks inside and Wooseok drives away, Jihoon moves back to the couch, flopping on it, wondering why he feels like sinking down into the cushions and never getting up. It’s comfortable, he thinks, and safe. And he knows it’s not enough.

 

 

Days come and go, friends come and pass, but Guanlin is a constant he never fails to acknowledge. They don’t talk much and Jihoon isn’t entirely sure if he can be classified as Guanlin’s friend, acquaintance, neighbour...the line is vague and he has no idea where he stands on. The timid smiles he sends the boy in the corridor, the soft whispers and laughter exchanged during Chemistry, the wave Guanlin gives him as they part at the end of the day - he doesn’t know what to make out of them.

He asks Woojin one day, if he thinks this is friendly. Woojin doesn’t press, to his relief, and says that’s it the right path. And yet, Jihoon isn’t quite sure. Because it doesn’t feel friendly when his heart races at the sound of Guanlin’s voice and his breath ghosting his ear. And it doesn’t feel friendly when he feels cold and seeks warmth in Guanlin’s smile. It doesn’t feel friendly when he shivers at their hands or shoulders brushing against each other. It doesn’t feel at all friendly when he catches sight of Wooseok and his hands clench in fists, seeing he is not the boyfriend Guanlin deserves. It doesn’t feel friendly, swallowing the gulp in his throat, knowing he isn’t either.

They talk about Wooseok sometimes, nothing much, random thoughts Guanlin has. And Jihoon figures out that something is wrong, that Wooseok is the source of the boy’s endless insecurities. It’s ironic that Guanlin is aware, too.

“It’s funny, really,” he says one day. “He isn’t someone I need, far from it. But he’s someone I want and that hurts the most.”

Jihoon holds his hand for the first time, saying it will get better, even though both of them know it’s a lie. Guanlin is soon back to his usual cheery self, telling Jihoon all about post-core and how his band are playing real music. He listens, smiling fondly, and he wishes he could be the one Guanlin wants.  
Guanlin doesn’t come to school one Monday. Jihoon doesn’t have his number. Pitiful, considering they’ve been seat-mates (friends? close acquaintances?) for over a month. Pitiful because Jihoon worries throughout the entire day and can’t ask if everything’s okay. He barely says a word to Woojin throughout lunch and pretends to take notes in Chemistry. Somehow, even though Guanlin’s presence isn’t major, the school feels emptier. The highlight of the day is the absence of Wooseok’s bike at the end of the day. Jihoon sure doesn’t miss that.

When back home, safe in his room, Jihoon tries reading his textbooks, but his eyes keep wandering to Guanlin’s house, which he can see clearly from his window. His windows take up the entire wall, facing southeast, so the view of the setting sun and the pastel neighbourhood is picturesque. But either fails to be as interesting as the room en face of his, which he can guess is Guanlin’s due to the black walls and My Chemical Romance posters he can catch a glimpse of from the distance. Jihoon gets up from his bed and moves closer to the glass wall to get a better look. It’s dark, so there’s not much to see, but curiosity gets the better of him and he squints inside.

The room is messy, with an unmade bed and empty packets of food scattered across the floor. There’s a large bookcase stacked from top to bottom and a guitar propped up against it. He can vaguely make out a desk with papers, notebooks and textbooks piled up in a chaotic manner and Jihoon can only wonder how Guanlin can live like this. His room is a polar opposite, everything organised neatly, nothing out of place. Strangely, he cannot see Guanlin himself, who he thought would be tucked in and resting.

Before he knows it, he’s back at Guanlin’s door, knocking repeatedly. A tall woman opens, Guanlin’s mother probably, and eyes Jihoon from head to toe.

“Good evening,” he greets her, trying to sound as polite as possible. Adults always stress him. “Is Guanlin home?”

“What’s the matter?”  
  
“Guanlin wasn’t on Chemistry today, I have notes for him,” Jihoon explains.

“Oh, yes! I’ll take them, thank you. Are you and Guanlin friends?” she asks, warming up a little. The question is ironic and Jihoon is tempted to answer that he would love to know himself.

“Yes, I live next door, actually, so I thought I could pop in. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you! Guanlin felt under the weather since Sunday evening, so I let him stay and get some rest. He’s feeling a bit better now, do you wanna come see him?”

“Sure, thank you!”

“Come on in then,” she gestures, so Jihoon takes off his shoes in the corridor. The house looks somewhat different, now that he pays attention to the details. There are family pictures plastered on each and every wall and a soft carpet covering the floor that feels cozy on his feet. He feels stupid for ever assuming Guanlin was in a cult when everything about him is as good as it gets.

The boy is wrapped up tightly in a blanket, staring blankly at the TV screen. He has bags under his eyes and his face is sunken, almost lifeless, but upon noticing Jihoon, he lights up a little. Not enough.

“Hi,” he croaks out, voice hoarse.

“Hey,” Jihoon whispers, kneeling down beside Guanlin and strokes his hair. “I brought you notes. From Chemistry. And I also wanted to ask how you were, I was so worried...”

Guanlin leans into Jihoon’s palm - one thing he’s found out about the boy in the past few weeks was how much of a baby he was deep down inside, yearning for any affection whatsoever. Affection he seems deprived of.

“Thank you,” he mumbles exhaustedly.  
  
“What happened?” Jihoon asks, because Guanlin doesn’t look sick, he looks miserable.

“We broke up,” he chokes out and presses his face against the pillow. Jihoon doesn’t pry, instead pulls him into a hug, as close as they can be, and tries not to break down when he feels Guanlin sobbing into his shoulder.

“Hey...shh...it’s gonna be alright...I promise,” he soothes Guanlin, in a low voice.

“But I love him,” Guanlin says and it’s so raw, so sad that Jihoon’s eyes water. The unspoken he doesn’t lingers in the air.

“And you’ll stop one day. You’re only sixteen and he’s a prick, full offence.”

Guanlin laughs but it’s fake and Jihoon feels it.

“That’s exactly why he dumped me. Because I’m sixteen. And I’m not mature enough.”

“From what you’ve told me, he’s a college dropout who lives with his parents and all he has is debts and a band,” Jihoon reasons, “he isn’t one to talk about maturity.”

“I know! And I know he’s an ass and that I deserve better. But I can’t help it, Jihoon,” Guanlin says, pushing his hand away. “He knows I hate that fucking bike of his, but picks me up every day and forces me to ride that thing. He’s such a reckless driver and until I got myself my own helmet he wouldn’t lend me one, because he didn’t care. He brings me down any time he can, he makes me go to parties with him and he hates all my friends, but I’m supposed to like his. But sometimes he takes me to nice places and tells me I make him happy and I want him to be. Because when he’s happy, I’m happy.”

Guanlin is ranting and Jihoon listens, nods in understanding. He adjusts his pillow and makes sure the blanket covers him properly. Makes him hot chocolate and wipes the whipped cream off him face. Plays Doraemon on the flat screen, grinning widely whenever the boy laughs. Explains the Ideal Gas Law again and again, as patient as ever, until Guanlin gets it. Praises him. Tries to be exactly who he needs.

When it’s late in the evening, he leaves. Guanlin’s mother bids him goodbye with a thankful, yet sad smile on her face. She closes the door, but Jihoon doesn’t move. He stands still, staring into the black mahogany as if it were an abyss. It is, in a way, always open to draw him in.

It takes a lot to go back home. He texts Guanlin, whose number he got finally, to lock the door for the night. Jihoon listens to post-core before going to sleep, hating every second.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [tt](https://twitter.com/loonamono)


End file.
